


Dancing With Tears In My Eyes

by SailorStarDust1



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: (But lowkey), Angst and Feels, Bisexuality, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, It's complicated VKaz, M/M, Nadine and Catherine mentioned, POV First Person, Parasite Kaz, Past BBKaz - Freeform, Past BBV, Past VQuiet, implied otasune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-19 22:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorStarDust1/pseuds/SailorStarDust1
Summary: Kneeling in front of me with closed eyes, Ocelot set a bouquet of white Stars of Bethlehem atop the actual grave. His quick glance at that woman’s memorial didn’t escape my notice. Arlington National Cemetery was practically *blooming* with these flowers.We both knew due to who.Out of respect for Ocelot’s own feelings, I stayed silent, merely offering a squeeze atop his shoulder. The warmth of his trench coat was startling against my somewhat chilled fingertips.





	Dancing With Tears In My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2nd first person POV fic and something of my 4th(?) OceKaz fic (but really, it's a multiship mess). Emotions between all these guys are…complicated. (Putting it lightly, am I right?)
> 
> Some inspiration came especially from earlier fics of mine: Manga and Hospital Blues, Inevitable, and Don’t You (Forget about me). I, uh, once resisted the urge to use the Quiet = Soklov’s daughter theory in a fic, so I was good and refrained from using a Holly (from MSX's Metal Gear 2) = Cécile’s child theory, too.
> 
> Due to the nature of the world + some real life things, I’ve had lots of sadness I’ve needed to get out…Apologies for the somber tone in this. Bless Kaz being so emotional, he makes for good (free) therapy :P
> 
> Please feel free to leave Kudos or a Review!

Together, we stand in the silence of my living room. Our eyes lock: his calculating gray with my faded blue. Words between us honestly need not be exchanged. He was catlike to the end in his mannerisms, a true constant in all these years I’ve known him. The other constant? Where ADAM’s loyalties  _truly_ lay, sometimes buried deep under layers of whatever various agencies or organizations he’d be manipulating out of necessity this month.

Ultimately, the less we’d approach _that_ sore subject, the better. Despite my thoughts naturally drifting there…

Really. I’d rather _not_ think about the discomforting sorrow and guilt mixed in with relief that  _he’s_ long rotting away, six feet under—or his cold body is being experimented on, in an undisclosed location, poked and prodded with countless wires against his muscular frame…

Thoughts of his ultimate fate were a giant question mark to me—like hell a master of secrets such as Ocelot would ever let me in on it—that queasiness within my stomach and occasional nightmares of _his_ shaky hands wrapping around my neck were thankfully less frequent as the years dragged on.

Although, I knew. His final screams towards David while surrounding flames engulfed him was a memory that would haunt me to my grave. I distinctly remember a loud clattering from my headset, face buried in my hands, something damp trickling down, and then…Daylight. Morning, already. Campbell was wondering what the hell happened on my end, my puzzled daughter Catherine was gently handing me our telephone.

There was an unspoken sadness between Campbell and myself, that things had to end up as they did. Yet Big Boss simply left us with no other option. Certainly he would've fed us some bullshit excuse about protecting us from ourselves, that it was all for the greater good, but we didn't have the luxury to hear the ramblings of a madman. Hoarding the world's nukes and having no qualms with child soldiers…The idealism of my youth prevented me from voicing potential concerns to Snake at the time, way back when, but with Diamond Dogs, I couldn't afford to make the same mistake twice. I ensured Diamond Dogs—and Venom Snake—shone bright. Brighter than our fallen MSF ever had.

With Catherine (already 22) and Nadine living in the mainland U.S., explanations to them about FOXHOUND, and about The Patriots, would’ve been especially difficult. I had no choice but to keep my past military history and my original name (“McDonnell Benedict Miller is so…unique!”, Nadine once told me) hidden from them both, least they get involved for the worse with Cipher.

Falling snow obscures the field of view from my frosted windows, sharp icicles glittering whenever the light catches. Especially with the weather changing on a dime (typical for Alaska), there was simply no way I can observe Ocelot’s carefully placed footprints he made during his silent trek outside.

I’m somewhat alarmed I didn’t hear howls or whimpering from my dogs, but somehow, it’s also a relief. I _know_ he ensured no harm came to them.

How could I ever forget DD?

There’s a lack of surprise with this entire situation I’ve found myself in. Hell, I’ve been half anticipating it ever since that one day in 1984. Regardless of…Snake’s…own feelings for me, and regardless of where Ocelot’s loyalties truly lay, this quietly smug man before me is always the type to do whatever’s required of him; putting personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. Like with the phantom.

…The phantom…

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, somewhat bitterly. Hazy memories of the last time Ocelot and I agreed to meet face-to-face return.

* * *

It was a beautiful autumn day, the crisp fall leaves and sunny sky almost felt like a mockery of the reason I took the initiative to call. Naturally, he long ago knew. I suspected he, at some point, spoke with Snake himself—wherever _that_ bastard was currently hiding, or possibly rotting away—but that was an especially sore subject considering the nature of my needing to see Ocelot.

Side by side, we stood in utter silence to pay our private respects. Under Venom Snake’s leadership for almost a decade, Diamond Dogs was our home—our family—once upon a time.

In truth, this grave was nothing but a mockery for the man who wasn’t even resting there. At our feet, the body of another man was buried deep below the Earth.

The phantom’s—Venom Snake’s—final resting place.

Appropriately fitting how it was next to the memorial for a True Patriot that the world unaware had scorned. She was the mother of the oddly quiet man at my side. Her body, and her will, were lost forever to the changing times.

One of us eventually sniffled. I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I couldn’t tell who.

A rather inappropriate memory surfaced during what _should_ have been a time of quiet reflection and good will towards the fallen…Perhaps it was deep seated guilt, that maybe…It was my own stubborn behavior and desire for personal revenge that failed Venom, in the end.

* * *

Some documents in my remaining hand, I approached the phantom’s door. Prosthetics were still an unappealing thought in my mind. Let the pain course through my veins, let the phantom pain be the first thing that greets me each morning. I’d forever blame myself and my own arrogance in my dealings with Cipher for MSF’s downfall.

After a single polite knock with those carefully balanced papers, I waited.

I frown, my eyes catching the crack in the door—intentional?—and the paperwork nearly slipped from my otherwise steady grip.

My bare chested commander’s back was turned to me, his face busily buried into _that man’s_  neck. Both of them were lowly moaning. His bionic and real hands alike, in careful movements, were slipping off Big Boss’s leather jacket.

Pounding heart caught within my throat, I stood transfixed at the scene in front of me. Certainly, Quiet’s disappearance left an obvious void in Venom Snake’s heart, but  _this_ …

A vague smirk formed despite that cigar enveloping  _his_ lips, our eyes immediately meeting.

We were drawn to one another, still, after  _nearly a decade_ apart…

His warm blue eye was silently inviting me in, to join him—them—both.

I was uncertain whether to choke from that wafting, painfully familiar, scent of his cigar, or the vague frustration—pangs of arousal mixed with jealousy. No way in hell I’d overtake my principles, my hope for the collective future, in exchange for some piece of ass. Not now.

Snake proceeded to make a _painfully slow_ show of deeply kissing V—utterly unaware, facing away—sucking slightly on the older man’s tongue, good eye still calmly locked with mine.

A quiet noise rose to the surface of my throat, my teeth grit.

Immediately, I turned to leave for my room to angrily sulk myself to sleep, pointedly ignoring the heat from my groin—due to utter disgust overtaking all else.

Like hell I’d ever fess up Ocelot about this one, certainly that cowboy (in that smug yet utterly composed demeanor of his) would berate me for having the wrong perspective on this entire situation.

* * *

Ever so slowly, regarding the tombstone’s epitaph— _A Hero Forever Loyal to the Flames of War, Rests in Outer Heaven 193X - 1999_ —my eyes shut.

A rough leather glove gingerly began to wipe away some gathering dampness underneath my aviators. Sniffling, I silently regarded the slightly older man’s comforting gesture. He responded with a slow nod.

Kneeling in front of me with closed eyes, Ocelot set a bouquet of white Stars of Bethlehem atop the actual grave. His quick glance at that woman’s memorial didn’t escape my notice. Arlington National Cemetery was practically _blooming_ with these flowers.

We both knew due to who.

Out of respect for Ocelot’s own feelings, I stayed silent, merely offering a squeeze atop his shoulder. The warmth of his trench coat was startling against my somewhat chilled fingertips.

The situation with Venom Snake overall…Forever perplexing to us both, despite ADAM being in on Zero’s plan from the very start. A body double of Big Boss on the surface, emotionally, morally, he was still his own man. The  _soul_ of that former MSF Medic was forever his own.

He had stood his ground, choosing to fight David, allowing Outer Heaven to burn alongside him, having nothing more to lose…Rather, maybe V felt he already lost everything.

It was regardless of his personal feelings towards Big Boss, towards Solid Snake, towards anyone, that V allowed himself one last good fight, to go down in a blaze for glory—It was for  _himself_ more than anyone. A part of me wondered if DD was right by his side at the end of it all.

“.....”

Minutes pass as Ocelot and I stayed that way, together in silence, him kneeling as I held his shoulder. We were trapped within our own thoughts and regrets, constructs we couldn’t break free of.

It was a pity turned tragedy when noble people were taken far too soon from this Earth.

* * *

As we continue to wordlessly stare one another down, my crackling fireplace warms our bodies chilled from memory after memory. It gave Ocelot an otherworldly glow.

“I’ll be needing these.”

Nimble fingers remove the aviators from my face, the item slipping into his winter coat as slightly chapped lips press against my forehead.

“Don’t die on me, Miller.”

In such close proximity to Ocelot, my nostrils immediately flare up from the familiar scent: Cigars. _His_ brand of cigars. Not the cigarettes Ocelot would partake in during our long nights in his office mapping out Diamond Dogs expansion plans, or a cigarette we’d share after animalistic—occasionally warm—moments in one of our bedrooms throughout the 70’s, the 80’s…The only way we could express our feelings for  _him_ , still fast asleep, unfortunately was through each other…

I flinch from the contact of his lips and mustache against my skin. In such a stressful moment like this, my brain only _now_ registers—weird, considering our meeting in the 90’s at the cemetery—that we’ve both taken to ponytails of varying lengths, these days.

“You? I thought this was for that brat’s reasons.”

Surprisingly, Ocelot smiled at me. Sincerely.

…Creepy.

“What I’m doing here is for personal reasons.” And his gaze fell to my hardwood floor, all traces of humor removed. “Just forget about us. Move on. Live. We both know the other son will handle Eli just fine.”

David. As Ocelot speaks, I find myself already buttoning up my overcoat. “…This mess is almost a shame, isn’t it?”

It was a moment of weakness.

The only explanation that made any sense within my tired brain upon realizing Ocelot's lips crushing against my own, even worse that I couldn’t help but immediately reciprocate.

Breathless, we finally—mutually—break away, after what felt like minutes in my mind. ADAM’s gaze hardens. Serious. The Ocelot I’m used to seeing.

“Miller, I mean it. Don’t you _dare_ throw this chance away.”

Something inside me…We both knew it. Save for a potential ‘something else’ on the other side (Snake, during our MSF days, once told me the most surreal war story), we would never meet again.

This was the final time our paths would cross.

I wasn’t even aware of the hard swallow escaping my throat. Somehow…I didn’t want this.

I don’t want that loneliness. EVA I barely know, let alone know her current whereabouts. David is elsewhere, living in Twin Lakes and allegedly enjoying retirement, and Ocelot…he’s my only link left.

To our old life. To our mutual past.

My body on autopilot, I’m aware of my prosthetic shakily buttoning up my winter coat while my left hand holds the soft fabric steady.

My hand falls to the door frame. But I can’t leave. Not until I know whether or not my upcoming bout of loneliness and true isolation is necessary.

“You’re absolutely certain? That he’s still alive, under their care?”

“…As ‘alive’ as one can be, in that sense.”

I nod. Had Ocelot carefully scrutinized my features just then, even he would write them off as utterly unreadable.

Bundled up completely, I’m greeted to the biting cold hitting my face. Away from the warmth of my quiet cabin in exchange for the harsh elements towards freedom.

Freedom.

* * *

My boots, lead-like, trek heavily through these snowy fields. I’m somehow unconcerned with the ‘tracks’ I’m leaving behind—if I know Ocelot, I know he can clean up messes with ease.

With a large wad of money he stuffed into one of my overcoat pockets alongside a number on a scrap of paper—for emergencies only—my body stills.

My ears strain.

Faint—but visible, if one carefully looked—splotches form against my eyes.

Humming.

It’s faint, but I can sense it.

Sense  _her_.

That fallen diamond’s butterfly, humming in the distance.

But Venom’s silent protector…It _can’t_ be.

Certainly I’m only hearing my dogs howling outside, the pack clearly alarmed by Ocelot’s abrupt gunshots inside my otherwise still cabin.

Still, I find myself staring back towards those snowy, distant, woods.

And a smile makes its way across my face as I continue onward, towards civilization.

_Stay safe, Quiet._

* * *

“ _Monsieur_ Miller?! It has been so long! _Ça va_?”

Not wearing aviators anymore (my hair still tied back), I look up from my small cup of coffee—that voice, that accent, is forever familiar to my ears. Needing to lay low these past few months ever since Ocelot’s help, I’ve found myself in France.

“ _Ça va_.” I manage, unable to smile in response just yet.

Paris of all places naturally entered my mind. I wonder, whether it was by fate or sheer coincidence that my old friend currently sits one table over. Quickly joining me in the chair across my table, she’s smiling widely, her own cup of coffee topped with foam is in her hand.

It’s a sunny winter’s day, the chill in the air refreshing rather than unbearable. Surrounding patrons are enjoying conversation and coffee, light jazz playing through the outdoor cafe’s speakers.

Around fifty-seven, Cécile has aged gracefully, wearing a simple one piece dress, long coat and boots. Her blonde hair somewhat faded but still visible. She was still beautiful inside and out, whether or not her hair turned gray.

Understandably curious what I’ve been up to these past 31 years (my God), her fingertips ever so slowly trace the bicep of my real arm, through my dark green turtleneck. Her eyes widen in alarm upon noticing my prosthetics.

“Old war injury. It’s nothing to worry about anymore.” Finally, I shoot her a reassuring smile. Remembering the charm of my youth, which was almost as dead and buried as…

Nodding, my Parisian takes her time in sipping her coffee, apparently in careful thought how to approach certain delicate topics.

“Snake is no longer by your side?”

It was understandable that she would mention him, curiosity a natural reaction, but her inquiry about Snake was like a knife to my heart. No. To my very heart and  _soul_ , the man I once so deeply connected with, fell in love with, that turned into nothing but a stranger as time marched on. Despite my occasional hopes upon joining FOXHOUND that maybe Snake changed for the better, maybe he finally got his head out of his ass, I was met with disappointment. No matter how many times we found each other in one another’s bed—usually half-drunk, embarrassingly, on my end—he just wasn’t the same person.

Sometimes, I blamed the coma. That crash must’ve changed him for the worse, caused a shift in attitude. Even on his ‘bad days’ at MSF, Snake was  _never_ outright cruel—not to me, nor our Medic friend, not to anyone.

Sometimes, at FOXHOUND, he’d look at _me_ with anger—not the other way around—while we fucked, muttering angrily to himself why I didn’t visit him back then at Cyprus, his hands tightening around my neck. I grunted low, having longed for those delightful sensations of being pushed to the brink, unable to otherwise reply in our moments of frenzied passion.

Didn’t _he_ know I had no idea where he was? Didn’t Ocelot have the courtesy to eventually _tell Snake_ —the _real_ Snake—about my missing limbs, my rescue from the Soviets?

Didn’t he know _I_ was angry at him about not letting me in on Zero and Ocelot’s plan? That Ocelot only had the decency to tell me while I recovered from my phantom pains, in the supposed safety of Diamond Dogs once more?

Presently, I’m sorely tempted to offer the easiest—blunt—explanation. The pain is visible in my eyes, the words forming on my tongue…Despite these countless years of desperately trying to bury it through raising my dogs, working out in my basement for three hours a day, or even my occasional fits of breaking down…Drinking that pain—that loss of love—away…

“Snake…passed away on the field.”

I ignored my faintly watery eyes, my wavering voice, in deciding to take the kind approach. Getting her caught up in the mess of our lives simply wasn’t fair to Cécile.

It was out of respect for the fallen. Soon approaching sixty, I was certainly old enough to know when to hold my tongue. Snake wouldn’t have wanted news of his ‘death’ any other way.

Funny how yet again I found myself thinking back to the past, inappropriate memories.

* * *

The one night Cécile finally agreed to join me in bed, I ended up on her good side thanks to a decent bottle of wine we shared. She was still understandably sore about the crappy 72 bottles I procured—I privately insisted to myself that they weren’t _that_ bad—our glasses clinking in cheers with my other arm around her. My hand found its way to the underside of her breast as we sat reclining atop the covers, half-naked, in good spirits.

With flushed cheeks, she was giggling at a stupid joke I made. Searching my current memory, I can’t remember the punchline anymore.

I was thankful that Snake was away on a mission, that I could enjoy some private downtime despite relaxing on the bed _normally_ shared between myself and Snake. My headset and an unwrapped condom lay next to the bottle of wine on the nightstand, I busily poured another glass for the beautiful lady at my side. I’m grinning.

“Care for some more?”

“Thank you.” Her smile was momentarily shy while she took careful sips despite a twinkle in her eyes. From what I could see, anyway, since she wore my aviators after we played around a little.

“Perhaps, _Monsieur_ Miller, you're not as big of an oaf as I took you for.”

Immediately, I’m laughing and pulling her close for an embrace, my nose brushing against hers. “Well, I’m honored you gave me a proper chance. Any way I can thank you?”

Her eyelids lower, she’s still smiling. I’m the prey in her sight, her lust contagious, overpowering.

“I know one way you can thank me…” Her fingers hook around the waistband of her panties she’s beginning to slip down. My smile never fades, I’m leaning in to softly kiss Cécile as our wine-soaked lips meet, and then—

The door abruptly slams open, an all too familiar throat clearing. Loudly. I freeze like a deer in headlights while Cécile quickly pulls her panties back up, apparently feeling no shame in being topless.

“Sn—Snake! You’re…uh…back early?” I nervously chuckle. _Fuck_ , I am so screwed. I remember my ‘promise’ (more like forced compliance) to Snake after our tussle in the sauna a month ago. I was good about staying chaste—I still maintain that it was jealousy on Snake’s part, considering the looks he’d give me in private that would easily escalate to…actions between us. It was only Cécile that I was still drawn to, and could he really blame me?!

He wore his sneaking suit tonight, a rather unhappy expression across his weary features. That faded green bandana was recently thrown to the depths of Lake Nicaragua. There was nothing I could say about a personal matter like that.

Cécile was offering Snake her brightest smile, calmly dressing before gathering her things—I made a face that her ‘things’ included the wine. I could certainly use that in the next few minutes to stay cheerful. “ _Excusez-moi_ , Snake! I will be out of your hair soon.”

He nodded towards her with a slight grunt, before maintaining steady eye contact with me.

She offered me a soft kiss before quickly taking her exit, shutting the door behind her with a now weak smile. She pitied me, I could tell.

Damn. So much for tonight. I was curious if she was secretly embarrassed. Certainly her crush on the Boss was evident to everyone including him. Not that _I_ was in any position to talk…

The man in question was oddly silent, his arms still crossed while offering a disapproving glare.

No dangerously growling out “…Kaz…”, no kicking me out of our room, no swiftly punching me to put me back in my place. Just that soul-piercing glare of his.

I _hated_ that damn expression, although honestly, I was curious just who he picked it up from.

On the days he’d resort to glaring (rather than CQC to get his point across), Snake always quietly expected better of you, and instead _you disappointed him_ —Whether or not it was through any fault of your own.

Slowly exhaling through my nose, the condom returns inside our nightstand. My sunglasses are back on my face, slipping past my nose. I’ve already resigned myself that a second chance between Cécile and I just won’t happen. Hell, due to my mother, it was only between Snake and I that I’d ever go bareback—not that it mattered tonight.

“Look. I…I’m sorry.”

Finally, he speaks. Sitting next to me, his arms are still crossed. “We talked about this, Kaz.”

My head bowed, I feel about 5 inches tall. Does he really have to be so…

He stays silent. Not bothering to smoke off his stress, I’m surprised to feel his hand abruptly squeeze the top of my thigh. Painfully hard.

I involuntarily yelp at the contact, jumping slightly before glaring at him. I’m slightly taller than him, not that the height difference matters with his proficiency in CQC. Finally, a smile cracks against his face. The bastard’s holding back a smirk. Did he really just want to watch me squirm this entire time?!

“Snake—” Before I can even begin my protest, his forehead bumps my own, our lips crashing and tongues tangling. I can’t help but groan at Snake’s touch, still in need of some form of release due to getting so worked up earlier.

“Make sure you don't forget this.” Snake forces my hands atop his back to peel off his sneaking suit, thrusting his hips into my own. He straddles me on our bed.

God…I love it when he’s so utterly possessive of me like this. I feel somewhat bad for myself and Cécile, but certainly she’d understand.

Snake makes damn sure  _he’s_ the only one on my mind, growling before biting my neck while I urgently tug off his uniform.

* * *

Unable to forget such an intense memory like that—Maybe I’m still as sex-crazed as I was in my youth, but it’s simply repressed?—my eyes fall to her thighs hidden under her dress, and the curve of her breasts.

I can’t let her get caught up in the current mess of our lives. If she kept in touch at all with Amanda throughout the years, then perhaps Cécile had an inkling of the Hell that myself, Snake, and our Medic endured.

“ _Monsieur_ Miller?”

Her eyes cautiously look up to meet mine, up from stirring her coffee. There’s that bright, cheerful, smile of hers again.

“Huh?”

With slightly wet eyes—as if she can sense my deep seated pain—Cécile is capturing my lips in a kiss. It’s soft, yet it affects me enough that I can’t help but moan.

Breaking away and having finished the last of her coffee, she stands—the sunlight catches something glittering against a finger. A wedding band.

Of course.

I suppress the bitter laugh in my throat, out of politeness.

“I’m sorry, but I have some errands to run today. You will…take care, won’t you?”

“I will. Look after yourself and your family.” I chuckle, staying good natured. Besides, I couldn’t forget to include the most important part: “And the birds of Paris.”

That draws laughter from her, a hand falling to her chin. “I can never forget the wonderful birds.”

Wishing one another well, separate lives were honestly for the best. I couldn’t allow myself to interfere in another person’s life when they deserved all the happiness in the world. If Ocelot was making good on promises to Snake and to himself, he’d find some means of setting the world right again—I silently prayed it’d be without sacrificing what few principles remained within him. (When it came to Ocelot, one had to prepare for anything he threw your way.)

Gathering her purse, with a wave, Cécile soon disappears from my line of sight, into the bustling city. I sat alone on the patio with my now cold coffee. After an encounter like  _that_ , I wasn’t certain what I wanted for myself, anymore.

Nor for my somewhat limited future.

* * *

Once spring arrived—the fleeting cherry blossom season itself—I found myself back in Japan. Maybe deep down, that unearthed heartache was what forced me to get away. Returning to my roots and original language _could_ do me some good…

Yokosuka, my home town.

Our old house was exactly how I left it back in the 70’s—surprising that nobody moved in, in all these years. Of course, the power and such had been long cut off. This neighborhood had a tendency to stay on the quiet side. Current residents who might’ve recognized me from when we were children back in the day, kept to themselves besides offering me a curious glance.

Mom and her cousin were buried at the cemetery a few blocks away.

Money, thankfully, wasn’t a problem for me. Cipher—The Patriots—on the off-chance they were searching for me, wasn’t a problem, either.

Under Ocelot’s guaranteed care, I had no choice but to place my faith, my trust, into him. Whether or not I could contact surviving family—whether or not they wanted to reconnect with me, given the circumstances of my birth… _That_ was another thing. At the very least, I owed it to mom to forgive and forget; to move on from our difficult past.

Wallet in my back pocket, I make way to the nearest pay phone down the street. The numbers I needed to dial were long memorized since childhood.

Now was a good a time as any to try and reconnect.

* * *

2014 was a rude awakening, nine whole years after settling down into my newfound life.

A handful of my cousins around my age and their children had been thrilled to welcome me home, while other members of the family were either long dead or wanted nothing to do with me. Mom’s unfortunate reputation and her giving birth to me apparently sullied her very self, in their eyes.

Their loss.

I kept myself busy—single for personal reasons—one of my cousins ran a convenience store which I assisted from the business angle. It was good work, a job that certainly took my mind off the past.

Today, a letter for me came in the mail. It was mixed in with the usual bills and advertisements, but what especially stood out was being dated from 2009.

Strange.

My heart stopped as I slowly took a seat in the living room, carefully opening the contents. A morning cup of green tea by my chair was essentially forgotten. Mom’s bedroom remained mostly unchanged, out of respect. If I ever had to leave Japan again, my cousins were free to move in and do as they’d like with the small home.

_Miller:_

_You reading this means I’m gone. I don’t want you to mourn for me, John, Venom, or any of the dead. Not anymore. We did what we had to, bloodied our hands countless times, to set the world right._

_Why have regrets about that?_

_There’s an old friend of yours in the States that I’d highly suggest you reconnect with._

_Look after yourself. Maybe someday we’ll meet again on the other side._

_— Adam_

 

Letter in hand, it loosely dangles against my knee. I shake my head, long-forgotten urge for a nicotine hit increasing when I haven’t smoked in nearly 30 years by now. ‘Old friend’ either meant Campbell, or David. Perhaps both.

I stand. Stretch. Grip my forehead. Exhale loudly. Try not to over-analyze my trembling body. His folded farewell rests neatly within my pocket. Ocelot could write whatever prose he wanted about forgetting them and moving on, but I simply couldn’t.

I was certain David felt the same when it came to his eternally estranged—dead—father.

Back to the States I’d go. I head into my kitchen, and the phone, beginning to make some necessary arrangements.

* * *

Standing outside the _Nomad_ , I wait—alone—for David’s return. I spoke briefly with Emmerich's son, introduced myself to his daughter(?) Sunny. He was a good man. To be honest, I was shocked a former otaku didn't begin excitedly grilling me about various Japanese culture questions.

David approaches. My faded eyes, long free of aviators, lock with his. That perceived old age, his overall weariness, honestly startles me despite Hal's warnings to anticipate the worst.

The technically younger man looked especially pensive today. Gradually, at length, Dave explained to me _his_ peaceful passing. And Zero’s.

A tightness was forming in my chest. Zero…It was hard to feel anger towards a sick, elderly, man. Didn't feel right.

A harsh contrast before thoughts of Big Boss even registered within my mind, I’m startled by the vomit puddle at my feet. David immediately offered a comforting hand to my shoulder. He was muttering something I didn’t quite catch. Sounded like relief at his old Master surviving, but…

The least I could do was live on for my former protégé. Ensure survival of the younger generation.

He wasn’t certain what had happened to Ocelot’s body. The younger Snake could only speculate. EVA, at least, was buried in her hometown of Meridian, David had personally seen to it, for the sake of the mother he never knew he had. As for David Oh—no longer Zero—his body was to be returned to Exeter, for any surviving family and friends. It was the least they could do for him.

When it came to John Doe, however…

David’s sudden surprise changed the subject. Good. I didn’t want that grim reality to stare me in the face so abruptly.

“Master. I…thought you were dead.”

I shake my head.

“The reports…said you died three days before the Shadow Moses Incident. That your body was never recovered.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.” And I meant it, my real hand squeezing his shoulder in reassurance.

* * *

We retired into the _Nomad_ for the evening, after agreeing together on Big Boss’s final resting place.

Sunny was busily cooking us eggs for dinner, sizzling in the kitchen area while she shouted cheerful “Welcome home!” greetings to David. They smell pretty good.

My eyes fall upon the open bathroom door, I figured that was where Hal and David disappeared to after we chatted outside. ‘Old age’ aside, David’s physical resemblance to  _him_ is unnerving. Even in my days as a FOXHOUND instructor, it took me aback. I nearly slipped several times, almost calling him ‘Snake’ before he officially received that code name from Big Boss.

From the distance, I looked into the bathroom. Prying without prying, Snake would’ve been amused at the vague skill set I picked up from him over the years.

Hal’s arm is draped over David. His smile is warm; he’s not in any hurry to let go anytime soon.

“You’re certain you want to do this?”

“Yep.”

I notice various bottles of hair color on the bathroom counter. Ah.

It makes sense. Blonde would be too much like Eli, David’s original brown locks—now gray—too much like his father. Of course David would want to differentiate himself, at least a little.

David was staring at himself in the mirror.

Politely clearing my throat while approaching, I offer: “A stubble suits you best.”

“Hm.” He’s still gazing hard, at himself, within the mirror. The shaven remains of his gray mustache are stuck against the sink. “Yeah, but what color is the question?”

This goes beyond a brief appearance change. It’s how he wants to be remembered in his last few months on this Earth. “Light red?”

Far too surreal, to think that I’d ever outlive my own protégé…It’s a mildly depressing thought, one I could never manage to vocalize. Not to him. Not after the hell he endured on his own—in his various battles—let alone the wars waging within himself. About himself.

It’s subtle, but I notice him visibly wince, prompting me to question: “No good?”

“Well…” Dave turns to me, offering a weak smile. “That would remind me of an…old friend.”

I’d recognize that look of lost love anywhere. It was the same look Snake once gave me when a package from EVA—some cassette tapes, but he never elaborated further, since everyone’s entitled to their privacy—arrived.

I smiled fully in turn, staying silent out of respect for whatever doomed relationship with a redhead that David was once involved in.

Hal—Otacon his nickname—mentioned something in passing about a wedding earlier in the day. The mental dominoes falling into place, nothing more needed to be said.

I found myself quietly scrutinizing Otacon as they together settled on trying a shade of honey, the scientist setting to work in helping his partner apply the product. It was a nice choice, similar yet different enough from Eli’s own tones.

These two were a good match. A perfect balance of each other’s strengths, and weaknesses.

My mind wanders to _them_ , the smile on my lips fading in response. Pity that Nadine and I were thrust together due to unfortunate circumstances, off the bat it stifled whatever compatibility we’d otherwise had. Cécile…Hell, by the time I seriously considered pursuing her, no more flirting games attached, I already promised Snake I’d stay chaste by fear of extra sauna duty—and fear of crossing him in a jealous rage. I had to admit, the night I was bold enough to evoke that kind of emotion out of him, ensuring that he wanted to possess _me_ utterly, entirely…it was something of a thrill before our shared lives came crashing to a halt in those flames of 75.

Almost unfortunate, then, that the potential blossoming of a new relationship, maybe a healthier relationship, with the phantom ended before it barely began. After nine years of (unfortunate) emotional leaning on one another and working alongside one another—roughly fucking on the nights our mutual loneliness and longing for  _him_ became nigh unbearable—it seemed my torture in Afghanistan was what finally gained a measure of respect in Ocelot’s catlike grays.

Syringe (apparently for himself) in one hand and his usual air of calm about him, it was then that Ocelot revealed the Truth, the ongoing and future plans of the _real_ Big Boss, as I was left to pick up the pieces.

Alone.

Just as well since the months gradually forged ahead, when a hypnotized Ocelot and the phantom who evidently fell for  _that parasite—Why couldn’t they see what a_ **_freak_ **_~~I~~ she truly was?— _ were the least of my worries. Our fallen brothers and sister took a much higher precedence to the petty and fickle emotions of myself, or anyone else. Where myself and Big Boss once failed, Diamond Dogs _would_ succeed.

Through Skull Face’s death by our hands, the infection epidemic across Mother Base, Quiet’s eventual disappearance, and making strides in nuclear deterrence against rival factions, we would be all the stronger for  _our_ pain.

The Truth, his Truth—a cassette tape, almost a year later directed for the phantom, no return address—that he was kind enough to let me eventually hear… _His_ familiar, crackly from the recording, voice immediately evoked a snarl upon my lips. Through my trench coat, I felt the warmth of Venom’s real hand radiating across my neck, an attempt at a reassuring massage as we listened to his voice in silence, but I would have none of it.

To this day I still remember shakily standing, the screech of my chair—from the recording, the last thing I heard was _“We can change the world - and with it, the future”_ drifting behind me, before I slammed V’s door with all the strength in my remaining hand.

I simply couldn’t bear to see the phantom calmly—rather, concerned—point out the expression across my pale, slightly damp from sweat, face, let alone him being _so damned kind_ about the entire affair. A fifth of Jack, securely buried underneath various folders inside my desk, was calling me.

Pity that even a temporary form of relief had to have _that man’s_ nickname somehow attached. 

And then, I walked in on those two, months later—much to my own anger, embarrassment, and desires. I refused to admit my partial jealousy about the phantom and Snake siding with one another.

Presently, I found myself visibly flinching at the memories. Older—perhaps only  _slightly_ wiser—I’m beside myself at how easily I let my negative emotions overtake any rational thought, in the 80’s let alone the 1990’s. My younger, carefree, self certainly would’ve been stunned into silence at these bitter attitudes which I managed to more easily reign in during the 70’s.

A change in ideals or not, how different would— _could_ —life for all of us had been, had I simply held my revenge-fueled tongue, suggest _other_ solutions to Big Boss about preventing Cipher from having their form of control over the world.

Pity that life was overly complicated, a hell of our own making. Our own choosing.

* * *

We could only mutually speculate what his final wishes would’ve been. Cremation, we agreed upon, the one to scatter his ashes across Venom Snake and The Boss’s adjacent graves being…David had given that honor(?) to me.

Maybe he felt too uncomfortable to do it himself.

I felt…To be honest, I didn’t know how to feel about it, anymore.

This entire situation was surreal, that I was the only one remaining of the ‘old guard’, smart enough to get away from the madness once the opportunity presented itself.

My chest still stung from time to time, like now, as those ashes nimbly fell through my fingers.

I recalled over the radio from that distant Zanzibar Land, his shrieks of agony upon meeting bitter fate.

_“Snake!! It's not over yet...It's not...over...yet...It's not...over...yet...Snake sn...a…”_

Big Boss cursing Solid before clearly crying out for that woman Loyal to the End, I wasn’t even _aware_ how quickly I threw my headset onto the floor, face in my hands. Shoulders tensing and momentarily shaken from anger, from the hurt, I didn’t acknowledge the brief wetness gathering in my eyes nor my disappointment that **there could have been another way** , had stubborn attitudes not prevailed.

Presently, I wondered how things were on the ‘other side’, my eyes upon those dual headstones before me. There were some lingering traces of dust against my fingertips once the act was finished. I still didn’t know whether or not to take much stock in the supernatural, but it wouldn’t be surprising in our line of work.

David, with crossed arms, had watched the act alongside Sunny and Otacon, who held somber expressions. With David at least…It was always hard to decipher his thoughts.

My eyes catching the dust, I took in a deep breath before lightly brushing across my forehead, my cheeks; thoughts immediately falling to Venom Snake and Big Boss alike.

Old feelings couldn’t be helped, a part of me _yearning_ to stay together through death itself.

To my surprise, footsteps approached. David’s fingertips briefly brushed mine, a jolt of contact. David followed suite in my silent gesture, dust tracing his face.

Just like me, he refuses to forget.

Our business finished, David and I begin offering one another pats on the back as our small group walked, to return home together.

My ears not having to strain, I was more than certain of it this time.

A familiar, almost mournful, humming was crystal clear to those who stood silent and listened.

So. She wanted to pay her respects, too.

**Author's Note:**

> The next fic I plan to write is for BBKaz Day 2017. Our prompt is First Encounter (any kind is fine, don’t feel limited to the CD Drama!) It takes place on September 21st thru 22nd—early or late submissions (fanfic, fanart, whatever) are totally OK! 
> 
> I can’t wait to see everyone’s work ^_^
> 
> Twitter: @BBKazDay
> 
> Tumblr: BBKazDay.Tumblr.com


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